


I Know Your Name

by KrisseyCrystal (AisukuriMuStudio)



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker
Genre: Adventure, Deaf Character, Gen, Inspired by Moana (2016), Moana AU, Wind Waker Setting, also if you thought i wouldn't have a Hei-Hei, and now i've finally finished the bit, because OH WOW A MOANA-INSPIRED AU WOULD BE FUN, deaf Link, something I started a long time ago right around the time I first got Breath of the Wild, think again, tho pretty much any LoZ game friendly...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 07:13:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18566497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AisukuriMuStudio/pseuds/KrisseyCrystal
Summary: Seated at the back of the room, a young boy with round blue eyes watched his grandmother’s elderly figure, every graceful and quick move of her hands. His younger sister sat at his side, blonde head turned when she heard the other children turn restless.But the boy's eyes never left his grandmother. The story she told him through her hands, though similar to the storyteller’s, was for him and him alone.They say the throne still waits for its demi-goddess princess,she signed.And one day, you will sail across the ocean and guide her home.The boy pointed to his chest with a bended brow.His grandmother smiled and leaned forward to tap his nose.It has always been you.





	I Know Your Name

“The world, as you well know, is full of water.”

The storyteller’s arms stretched out to her sides, sweeping over the heads of the many little ones seated before her. A wide smile split her face. Their eyes were so very round. “It stretches on for all you can see in every direction, scattering our people. The fractured remnants of the once-proud Hylian race are split apart by vast and violent seas, unable to reunite as the kingdom we once were.”

Her voice grew sad and wistful, nostalgic, as she bent towards the little ones peering up at her. Not all of them were covered with hair or pointed hats of green. A few leaf-faces peered up in equal wonder as their peers--though they had heard the Old Story many, many times.

“There was a time when this was not so,” she continued, “when us Hylians were not refugees. We were a proud people, a _strong_ nation. We had our own kingdom and our own land.”

A girl with two short pigtails stuck her hand up. This was her first hearing of the Old Story, now that she had reached the age of six. “Why did it change?”

“Long ago, in our kingdom of Hyrule,” the storyteller answered, “our dear princess, with the blood of the goddess in her veins, had a wish. As her loyal subjects, we helped her fulfill this wish:  we believed the Triforce, a gift left by the goddesses, would be her means to such an end. After many enduring trials, three ancient pearls of legend were finally obtained. All three of them together were the key to unlock the door to the Triforce, found within the Temple of Time. But even after all of our efforts, when the princess and her trusted knight stood before that which we worked so hard to earn--something went wrong.”

“What?”

“Why?”

“No one knows. The only ones present were the princess herself and her appointed knight.” The storyteller’s shoulders fell. “Some stories say the monster in our tale had been there all along, sealed with the Triforce, only to suddenly wake when it found mortals had entered its realm. Others say that in the same instant that princess’ wish was half-granted, that’s when the monster was born, rising from the other half of her mangled wish.” She shook her head. “No matter how it happened, the result stays the same:  the knight lost his life protecting the princess to a dark and hideous monster and the princess in turn was only granted half of her wish before the Triforce split apart and vanished. Our princess was transformed into a demi-goddess. Ashamed at the events that had transpired, she fled the throne and crossed the vast expanse of the ocean, never to be seen again.”

“And Hyrule…?”

“When dark creatures rose from the ocean depths to attack our kingdom, defenseless and without our princess, many Hylians fled. Those that stayed to defend our home were slaughtered. But to this day, somewhere out there, its location lost to time, still lies the ruins of our old Hyrule Castle. They say the throne waits for its demi-goddess princess, and when she returns--guided by the reincarnation of the soul of the hero--Hyrule will be our home once more.”

Wide eyes turned to each other--refugee children and Kokiri and Korok alike--to hush excited murmurs behind cupped hands. They giggled and writhed in their seats. As they grew more and more antsy, their movements began to mimic swords. Shouts of heroism arose:  “ _I_ _will be the one to bring back the princess!” “No, I will!”_

Seated at the back of the room, a young boy with round blue eyes watched his grandmother’s elderly figure, every graceful and quick move of her hands. His younger sister sat at his side, blonde head turned when she heard the other children turn restless.

But the boy's eyes never left his grandmother. The story she told him through her hands, though similar to the storyteller’s, was for him and him alone.

 _They say the throne still waits for its demi-goddess princess,_ she signed. _And one day, you will sail across the ocean and guide her home._

The boy pointed to his chest with a bended brow.

His grandmother smiled and leaned forward to tap his nose.

_It has always been you._

* * *

Grandmother had found Link in the Secret Grove a year ago. Hidden away in the dense and mist-laden Lost Woods, the Secret Grove was not a place people found themselves voluntarily wandering into. When the Deku Tree told her that her little one was there, surprise, confusion, and a small flicker of hope lit in her chest.

She found the young boy with his hand outstretched towards the violet hilt of a blade lodged in a stone pedestal overrun with ivy. The tip of his fingers brushed aged leather. At the contact, all of the forest began to sing.

It was then she knew.

* * *

_How did you come here?_

Link blinked innocently. His hand fell to his side idly, before lifting to sign back with both hands waving left and right. His blue eyes stared up at her coolly and evenly, as if the matter was very simple. _The wind._

Grandmother stared at him until his stilled hands were stirred to motion once more. _It was like it was pulling me here. I wondered if it knew me._

She found herself asking the same thing.

 _This sword is pretty cool,_ Link added after a lingering glance to the blade.

 _You like it?_ Grandmother asked with two pinched fingers pulling away from her chest.

Link smiled and nodded, suddenly bashful. His blonde hair shimmered with what little light from the canopy survived its journey into the grove. With bright blue eyes and a small grin, he clasped his hands behind his back and rocked forward onto his toes.

Grandmother held out her hand and bent for him. She rarely used vocal words when her oldest charge would never hear them, but in this moment, she wasn’t just speaking to him. “Come,” she bid with wide bend to her lips. “You’re far too young, my dear. It is not yet your time.”

Link hurried to her before she finished speaking. The instant her purple-spottled hand was outstretched, he hopped from the stone outcropping and padded to her side. His small fingers, pale and unblemished, wove into hers.

* * *

Neither Link nor Aryll were old enough to remember when their parents passed. But they could remember when Old Man Sturgeon, their stubborn academic tutor, died to the Malady. It was, as far as either child knew, their first encounter with death.

Link had been eleven and Aryll, ten.

It was a traditional funeral. The Great Deku Tree gave his blessing and shook loose pale, pink petals that rained upon the somber parade through the village. Hylians, Kokiri, and Korok alike travelled across Kokiri Island and to its Western Shore. Under the burning sky at sunset, they slid the raft that carried Old Man Sturgeon’s violet-marked body out to sea. And when the Hylians began to sing, the Kokiri and Koroks joined in.

Link turned to his Grandmother and she taught him the song through her hands:  a prayer song, that Old Man Sturgeon’s stained body might find its final resting place in Hyrule and that his spirit may be welcomed by their ancestors in the Sacred Realm and beyond.

* * *

Mesa died to the Malady when Link was thirteen and Aryll was twelve, but he hadn’t been old and hadn’t even been married, and there were many villagers, including Grandmother, who had been upset that someone so young had been taken.

 _He should have had so much more life to live,_ Grandmother had signed to Link by candlelight after Aryll had been put to bed. The funeral, as was tradition, lasted the entire day. _Instead, all of that life, all of that potential for good, has been taken from him._

 _Why did the Malady take him quicker than it did Old Man Sturgeon_? Link asked.

Grandmother shook her head with a heavy bend to her brow. She closed her eyes and sighed so deeply, her shoulders sagged.

Link’s eyes fell upon the violet tracings he could see on his Grandmother’s forearms.

Had he ever noticed that it reached up to her elbows?

* * *

No one could remember when the splotches that marred the skin of all Hylian refugees first became a normality. Surely there was a time where one’s life wasn’t determined by how far the Malady had spread across their figure. At some point long, long ago, people had to have been free to live as long as they could until their body gave out for reasons other than an unidentified and unavoidable illness.

A few of the more philosophical claimed the reason the Malady grew faster and cut short the life of some more quickly than others were because they had conceived evil or selfish thoughts. The more cruel, jealous, or wrathful one’s nature, the faster the Malady would kill them.

But there was no explanation as to why one Hylian never received a single blemish in all his sixteen years of living. His skin was unmarked, unstained.

For as long as even the oldest Hylians could remember, such a thing had never happened.

* * *

“It is taking our youth far too quickly.”

“Have you seen my little Zill? His markings are already up to his waist. My heart breaks every time I wash him.”

“Something must be done...we’ve been complacent with this condition for too long.”

“It’s even starting to affect the Kokiri. I’ve heard of a few of them starting to see the blemishes on themselves.”

“You don’t think they’ll think we are the cause, do you…?”

“I can’t say. We may very well _have_ passed it on to them. If they force us to leave the island, I won’t be surprised. We may have been here for nearly a century, but that means nothing in the face of an epidemic that’s claiming the lives of _children_.”

“What are we going to do…?”

“...we should see if there’s anything about that Sound kid that might help us...”

“Abe, I’ve _told_ you not to call him that. It’s so cruel.”

“The fact that he’s the only one who somehow _doesn’t_ have the Malady is what’s cruel, Rose.”

“That’s not his fault--”

“--we’re getting off track here.”

“Maybe we should just call this meeting adjourned…”

“But we haven’t even determined what we’re going to do next! Children are going to start dying if we can’t figure out a way to slow or stop the Malady. Soon, we’ll have no one left! The Hylians will become extinct--”

“--that’s a bit of an exaggeration--”

“--but is it? I feel like we cannot deny the fact that the Malady is getting worse. When I was young, I do not remember so many young people falling to it. Now, ever since Mesa, I’ve been seeing more and more children die before their parents. _That_ is what is cruel. The time is now. We have to figure out a way to stop it, or slow it down. At the very least.”

“But _how_ _?_ _"_

* * *

By the age of sixteen, Link had learned to recognize when the Elder Council meetings had ended fruitlessly. His swordsmanship instructor, Orca, was a man of action and not idleness. On the days when the white-bearded man felt there had been nothing accomplished, he would often be stricter in his training sessions. His sword cuts would be sharper; his thrusts and parries staccatoed with a muffled restlessness and frustration.

His mentor didn’t know many signs, but he knew the quick jab of flat fingers to an open palm of _again._ On such days, there were a great many times he would order Link to perform a technique _again_ and _again_ and _again._

Link performed as best he could. When Orca finally called him to a stop with a large and overhead swing of his stained arm, he drew to a sharp halt. His teacher sighed and his entire upper body bent over, leaning on his bo. The white-bearded man must have said something, but whatever it was was lost. Link waited patiently until Orca peered up at him and repeated his words.

“Go on. Get out. I’m tired of staring at your face. We’ll resume tomorrow.”

Link jerked straighter and nodded sharply. He bowed and turned on his heel. With quick movements, he sheathed his wooden practice sword and strapped it over his back.

He could not get outside and into the sun fast enough.

Link smiled to the sky once he could feel its afternoon warmth. His arms lifted at his sides; he spun in a happy circle. With sauntering grace, he turned and let his feet lead him down the path from Orca’s house to the beach.

With luck, he’d still be there in time to catch a nap before Aryll--

\--his foot hit something soft.

His face instantly met with dirt.

Link spluttered out blades of grass and pushed himself up from the earth, conscious of something bobbling and bumping up his leg and side. He recognized the errant walking of that round, squishy creature and exhaled when he let his head fall to peer at the bird from under his arm.

The beady black eye of a familiar cucco peered back at him. Its blue-feathered head tilted to the side as its beak parted in what must have been a greeting.

Despite himself, Link felt a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

He pushed himself up to his feet and in the same movement, scooped the cucco up into his arms. The little bird’s feet swam into the air. Its neck wobbled. With a shout Link could feel through his palms, the cucco squawked. That same instant a blonde blur raced up to him and held out her two purple-spotted arms.

“Cojiro!” his sister’s mouth parted to form. “Gosh, I’m so sorry, Link. I didn’t mean for him to trip you…!”

Link shook his head. He handed over the blue cucco gently. Immediately, Aryll cradled Cojiro close to her chest. Her smile widened into a giggle Link could see in the happy folds around her blue eyes. “Still, I’m glad Cojiro found you just as you got out of lessons. Now, you can help with all of our afternoon chores!”

The tips of Link’s ears flushed.

Aryll’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. As if feeding off of its mistress’s suspicion, Cojiro’s eyes squinted in perfect mirror. She leaned in, close to her brother so he could read every word from her lips. “I mean, that’s what you were gonna do now that you’re done with class, right? You were gonna _help_?”

Quickly, Link nodded.

His little sister huffed and stuck her nose up. “Good. Then come on! There’s still lots to do before we eat, and guess what? Grandmother’s making her _soup_ tonight! It’s gonna be _awesome_!”

There went all his hopes of a sunny nap on the beach.

Link restrained a sigh but nodded. Aryll turned and with exaggerated steps that kicked out like she was marching, she lead him away from the path towards the beach and down the rocky path towards their hut on the north side of the village, instead. Link hung his head and reluctantly followed.

Well. Maybe next time.

* * *

Aryll was aware of the rumors and the name-calling behind their backs. How could she not be? She was the sibling with hearing; she could hear everything they said about her brother, the one who the Malady had deigned to spare. The boy who couldn’t hear, and had perfectly unblemished skin:  the “Sound” kid.

She hated what they called him.

It used to be worse when they were younger. When Link didn’t have his swordsmanship classes and they had so much time left to their own devices--time to try and play with the other Hylian and Kokiri children on the island.

It was usually the Hylian children who would set up the cruel play. They would prompt Link to talk, and then laugh at how different his speech was. They would mimic him and mock him, sticking out their tongues and rolling their eyes--putting on dazed and ‘dumb’ looks that would make Link recoil in shock.

 _I don’t look like I sound like that, do I?_ Link would ask later with his hands.

Aryll always shook her head quickly. _They’re just being jerks. Don’t worry about them._

That was easier signed than done.

She is sure that at some point, Link probably could have learned how to speak as a hearing person would. But after enough of those ‘games’ the other children would play, her brother clammed up and pressed his lips together tight and vowed to rarely use his voice ever again.

Her chest panged hard whenever she thought of it. Her brother didn’t have a bad voice. It was nice; a warm tenor, not too low or gravelly. She missed hearing it and the way he would say her name.

When she and Grandmother first tried teaching him how to talk, they’d sit across from each other on the rug in the middle of their hut and practice pronouncing words real slow and with exaggerated mouth movements so that he could watch the curl of their tongue and the way it would flick against the roof of their mouth or lay flat against its bottom and mirror them. But thanks to the efforts of the other island children, Link hadn’t wanted to sit and practice a skill he’d just be mocked for.

Now, as if their childhood taunts hadn’t been enough, this new moniker had arisen.

It was persistently--annoyingly--sticking.

* * *

“Guess who got out of lessons early!”

Grandmother lifted her head. At the sight of her two grandchildren striding into their hut, she smiled warmly. Her fingers released the fibers she had been weaving on her lap and stretched out her arms for them.

“Welcome home,” she hummed into Aryll’s hair first. She gave her youngest a squeeze, at the same time as Aryll squawked, “Be careful, Grandmother! I’ve got Cojiro!”

“Oh--yes--your cucco--” Grandmother released her hold quickly, eying the little, dazed bird that looked like it hadn’t even been aware it was about to be squished. She still wasn’t sure why Aryll insisted on keeping the little one as a pet, but she wasn’t about to voice such an opinion. She had already seen what happened when someone threatened to ‘cook’ the blue-plumed cucco, and it had not ended well for them.

Grandmother patted Cojiro’s head with worn and stained fingers. “Forgive me, dear. I didn’t see him.”

Aryll smiled and shrugged. “It’s okay. I think Cojiro forgives you.” She peered close to one of the bird’s beady eyes, cocked towards the ceiling, and cooed, “Don’t you, Cojiro?”

The cucco timely squawked and kicked out an orange leg.

Grandmother chuckled with a crooked brow. But then, her attention shifted to the young man behind Aryll, watching patiently for his turn with a fond smile curved on his face. She raised her arms for him, too, and he immediately stepped forward and leaned into her embrace. His arms--so strong, now; getting stronger by the day--wrapped around her in return.

She waited for him to move back. _It’s nice that Orca let you out early. Will you be helping with the afternoon chores?_

Link nodded, something like exasperation coloring his face a faint pink. _Aryll already made me agree to it._

Aryll huffed and stomped her foot. With her brother’s blue eyes on her, she retorted, “Well, _somebody_ had to! Else you’d have just snuck off to the beach to sleep again! I swear, you’re so lazy, Link.”

A soft rasp of laughter escaped her brother and it made Aryll preen. Warmth unfurled in her chest.

It was a good day whenever she could make Link laugh.

Grandmother waved her hand and her grandson looked to her again. _Your seventeenth birthday is coming soon, you know. I just thought of it, but shouldn’t we change your old sign for your name, now that you’ll no longer be a child?_

Link shifted his weight.  
  
Aryll waved, jostling Cojiro to be cradled under one arm, and added, “I agree! Your old name sign doesn’t fit you anymore, Link. After all, like Grandmother said, you’re gonna be seventeen soon. You’re not a _child._ ”

The pink deepened at the tips of his pointed ears. With a sheepish expression of admission, he answered, _Then what do you think it should be?_

Grandmother hummed. She put a finger to her chin in thought and a moment later, let it fall as she said, _Well, give us some time. When your seventeenth birthday is here, we’ll have one ready._

* * *

Aryll went to bed promptly that night after dinner with Cojiro in her arms and Link helped his grandmother wrap the rest of her soup in the pot and tuck it away in the ice box. They cleaned up the table and Link swept the floor and tried to ignore the way Grandmother couldn’t stand as long as she used to anymore. He urged her to sit in her chair, to rest. He could finish up the rest of the evening chores.

It worried him how easily she agreed.

Link kept glancing to her out of the corner of his eye, watching the way her chest would shakily rise and fall. The malignant purple was climbing so high, now.

When finished sweeping, Link put the broom away and shook out their rug and turned it over. Just as he was about ready to say goodnight and turn in for bed, his grandmother stopped him. She gestured him closer with a wave of her hand. He acquiesced. When he stood before her, she took his arm.

 _Come with me,_ his grandmother signed. Her legs shook when she stood, pulling on him to support her rise. _There’s something I should have shown you long ago._

Link reached for her shoulder as she turned from him. He hated to speak, but he could feel a protest rise up from his lungs. It nearly unfolded from behind his unconfident lips-- _But you’re not well. You should be resting. You’re so exhausted and tonight is such a nondescript night. It’s unimportant. This could wait until tomorrow, couldn’t it? You shouldn’t be trying to walk now--_ but she placed a weathered, stained hand over his pale and unblemished one and squeezed.

There was no room left for argument when their eyes met.

“Come,” she mouthed.

Link swallowed and nodded. He slipped his arm under hers.

* * *

They came to a stop at a low rock wall, overgrown with needle-thin and leafy vines, next to the mouth of a cave. Link eased his grandmother to sit on the edge of the stone wall, painfully aware by the tremble of her form and the harshness of her breath just how much their short excursion had already cost her. His fingers brushed across her brow, where the purple marks had long since spread past her hairline.

Gently, her hand pushed his away. _Go,_ she said, not without a smile. _Don’t worry about me. Take a look through that cave. I think you’ll find something interesting._

Link’s blue eyes flickered just once to the cavern’s dark mouth. His mouth pressed into a thin line. _Is this really the right time for exploring?_ Why was this so important to her?

Grandmother nodded. Her shoulders lifted with a deep inhale. _It’s better now than never._

Link’s head tilted with a tight bend to his brow. What did that _mean_?

 _Go,_ her hands urged. _Explore the cave. I think you’ll find some answers to questions that have lain dormant for far too long._

Link looked to the cave once more. He took a slow breath and glanced back to his grandmother. When he found her encouraging, if exhausted, expression, he relented and nodded. Hesitantly, he stepped towards the cave.

Suddenly, Grandmother gasped and leaned forward. She tapped his shoulder. Link turned.

 _I almost forgot._ Her hands moved with fluid urgency. _When you find the baton, wave it._

Link’s brow furrowed even further; his mouth formed a deep frown.

Grandmother patiently smiled and repeated, _It’s important. I promise. When you find the baton, wave it._

* * *

Link found the ships first, boats of every kind from a small raft with a giant leaf upright against a single mast, to a much larger vessel with a jagged and serpentine dragon at its helm. Beached and propped up by several wooden legs, the old and treated wood looked sad, somehow. Desolate, with its sailcloth wrapped up and tied to the tee of the mast.

There was a smaller boat painted a bright, parrot-red on the other side, long and wide enough for two to comfortably travel in. At its front was the face and mane of a regal dragon, its two yellow horns twisting up to the rocky ceiling. Blue eyes steadily peered out into the waterfall gushing over the mouth of the cave like a curtain. When Link wandered in front of the boat, he could almost imagine those eyes were resting on him.

He turned and looked to the other boats also docked on the bed of the cave.

Where would a baton be…?

He wandered onto the deck of the larger ship before he found it, lying innocently at the foot of the steering wheel. It was the length of his forearm, bone-white, with two wave-like curls carved outward just above the hilt.

When Link picked the baton up, it seemed to speak.

It was not as if he could suddenly, magically hear. It was not as if the baton had a voice. But there was a certain _rightness_ in his bones when the baton sat in the palm of his hand, and a peculiar certainty that settled in his gut.

It was as if Link had remembered something he had long since forgotten.

He raised the baton and waved it. There was no question in his mind as to what direction it should go; he let it lead him--fist up, then left, then right.

Then, wind.

Link gasped at the sudden chill. The rolled sails of all the ships in the cave fluttered against their bindings, yanking and tugging as if trying to free themselves. Ancient wood creaked and groaned; smaller ships listed sideways. The raft tipped over.

On pure instinct, Link shut his eyes tight.

The world erupted into sunlight.

Images flew through his mind--sharp and clear, as if they were his own:  the open sea, churning beneath the stomach of their ship as they sailed. The salty spray of ocean water on his face. He lapped at his lips and could taste all the places they had never been to yet:  all of the Great Sea they had yet to explore.

They.

_They._

He was not alone on the ship. Children bounded across the planks of the uppermost deck, chasing each other with their mouths parted wide in what he could only assume was laughter. A perfect picture of life, of _youth._ Of healthy continuity. None of them had any sign of the Malady on their skin.

A hand took his own. He turned and saw dark eyes and golden hair the color of the sun.

“Gonzo says we should find land soon,” slender lips parted to form; her voice must have been as lovely as she was. She seemed both surreally close and so far away. “Any second now I bet we’ll hear Zuko yelling his head off.”

He knew her.

He loved her.

He didn’t quite know how, but--

“What do you say, Hero of the Winds? Think this’ll be the one we call home?”

He--

A gasp tore from Link’s lungs. He stumbled back and into the steering wheel of the same ship he had seen in the vision. (Vision? That’s what it was, wasn’t it? That’s what you called such things that took over every sense it could and left you winded and dazed and--?)

The baton was no longer in his hand--somehow, mysteriously, it had vanished.

But his course was remarkably clear to him.

His feet pounded down the planks and he leapt over the railing and to the sand. He stumbled when he landed. He almost fell to his knees, but he pushed forward, onward, propelling himself back upright with a launching sprint and a sandy spray. Link didn’t stop running until he rejoined his Grandmother’s side, still waiting patiently at the mouth of the tunnel. He flapped his hand frantically at her as he approached. Once her eyes were on him, a pleased smile spread warm across her face. His hands flew.

 _Voyagers!_ He swept the sign out to mimic the bounce and roll of waves. _Once, long ago, we were_ voyagers _!_

He himself still could not believe this. His grandmother watched as he moved as fast as he could. His visions tumbled out of him, anxious to be out there and free from the confines of his own head. _We weren’t stuck on an island with nowhere else to go. We didn’t wait for someone else to save us from the Malady or bring us back to the throne. We traveled! We searched for a_ new _land to call_ home.

His beaked hand paused near his pointed ear.

After a momentary pause, he corrected himself.

_A place to call Hyrule._

Grandmother nodded. She waved the boy’s drifting gaze back to her. _The baton showed you quite an important piece of our people’s history. Long ago, our people took it upon themselves to find a new kingdom and not resurrect an old one--though I’m certain it was not an easy decision._

Link nodded.

 _Now that you know this, what do you think you will do?_ Grandmother smiled. _What does this vision mean to you?_

Link paused. The wheels turned over and over in his head, but he found, even after long and stretching minutes of silence, he...didn’t know. What meaning could he find in a vision that presented a course so different from what the Old Story had always promised? What was there to say?

 _Was_ he supposed to do something?

* * *

The days after the vision were strange. Link was hardly aware that his birthday was the following week. His schedule just resumed itself with a surreal, filmy quality. It was as if a giant woven tapestry like the ones along the village’s center hut was telling the story of his days and he was someone else, someone tracing the images on the cloth and reading them, not living them out with every dusty step to sword practice and every subsequent task of his chores.

Link didn’t tell Aryll about the vision. He’s not quite sure why; maybe because he knew she would ask pointed questions and he knew he didn’t have the answers to satisfy her. He didn’t have the answers to Grandmother’s questions yet. How could he possibly hope to respond to his inquisitive sister? 

Besides, what was he supposed to do now? Was he just supposed to leave his island, his home, and travel off into the unknown, like their ancestors did before them? Was it time for them to find a new home? Was _that_ the solution to the Malady?

Why did Grandmother even insist he _see_ the vision?

Then his birthday came. The celebration was still a happy affair even though Link felt like it had snuck up on him this year. Just like they promised, Aryll and Grandmother gave him his new name.

Later that night, looking up at the thatched roof of their hut, Link repeated the sign into the air. He watched the way his hand, fingers bent in the shape of an L facing his shoulder, circled towards him and away. How they moved in an angled-outward loop. He switched hands and let his other hand form the L. His right hand fisted and drew up from the inner side of it. _Brave and sword, huh…?_

Is that what they thought of him? _Was_ he brave? _Was_ he a warrior?

Link didn’t feel much anything other than confused, to be honest.

He repeated the sign quickly a few more times. When the mottled knot at the base of his neck grew too tight, he finally turned on his mat and fell asleep.

* * *

A few days later, Grandmother collapsed. 

The dark, inky violet markings now completely covered her skin. They had long since reached past her brow; when Link parted her hair, he could see the markings on her scalp. Her face was constantly twisted in pain and when she could dare to open her eyes, Link took every opportunity to sign to communicate with her that he could.

Neither he nor Aryll left her side.

They were there when, in the deepest part of night, she finally breathed her last.

* * *

The traditional funeral came and went. 

The Great Deku Tree gave his blessing. Pale pink petals fell all around them as they marched through the village. Under the burning sky of sunset, all of the island inhabitants stood along the beach as Aryll and Link slid the raft that carried their grandmother’s body out to sea. Aryll cried hard. Link held her hand. Together they stood side-by-side, the sea water lapping at their midcalves, watching as she drifted out of sight.

The mourning song began.

This time, when Link signed, there was something more to it. There was something heavier, more desperate, in his heart that found its way into his hands.

He did not think he could live with it if Grandmother really did not manage to find her final resting place in Hyrule. If her spirit was never welcomed by their ancestors in the Sacred Realm and beyond...what was there to go on for?

* * *

In the days afterward, Link told himself it would be okay. He and Aryll had known the loss was going to come; Grandmother had been looking worse and worse every day. They had always known it was just a matter of time before their family of three (or four, as Aryll insisted while holding Cojiro) would dwindle down to a family of two. 

“We’re all the family each other has left now, you know?” Aryll asked him with a big sniffle one evening, knees brushing against his own.

Perhaps that’s why when the news reached him in the middle of practice that Aryll, too, had suddenly collapsed, that the Malady was heavy on her body--he thought his heart might have stopped.

* * *

_Aryll._  

Link shoved through the crowd gathered outside their hut. Their heads were pressed together, peering in through windows and the gap in the doorway where their door stood ajar.

_Aryll--_

When the other villagers realized he was there, they finally parted and let him through.

He fell to his knees at her bedside.

She was _covered_ with blemishes. The Malady had reached beyond her jaw, dark violet tendrils veining up her cheeks. Her face was tight, clenched like a fist. Her youthful face of fifteen was contorted with pain.

When his shaking fingers brushed her cheek, her blues opened.

“Link,” she gasped. Her mouth flapped to the formation of his name. Link blinked hard against the warmth that burned behind his eyes. A tear fell from her eye, dripping a chilled trail down her flushed skin. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry--”

Link shook his head fiercely.

He stilled when he felt the faint pressure of her hand on his cheek. Her fingers pushed back his jagged bangs. He reached up with his own to cover hers. Their fingers wove together; hers fell limp inside his grasp.

“I knew it would punish me eventually,” her mouth read. “I was so jealous. All the time. I envied you, until I grew to resent you. And now the Malady’s come for me because of it. And so soon after Grandmother...”

Link shook his head and shook his head and didn’t stop until Aryll pressed both of her palms to the sides of his face to still him. She forced him to look at her and meet her watery gaze with his own. Something inside his chest trembled.

“Stop!” she ordered. Her arms shook on either side of him. “Please. You _have_ to look at me. You _have_ to know what I’m saying…!”

Link didn’t move after that.

Aryll took a breath. “Grandmother always believed in you. She knew you were the one the stories talked about, that you would take our people’s sword and one day leave to bring the princess back and return us to our homeland. She always believed it. For a time, I hated you, because I thought that meant Grandmother loved you more. And I--I was so--” She winced, her face tightening suddenly and fiercely. She shook her head against the pillow. “--it was stupid. I was wrong. Now, I have to believe in you, too.”

Her slender form shook under her knitted covers. “Because you’ll do it, won’t you? You’ll save us? You’ll save...me?”

Link nodded without missing a beat.

A breathless smile spread his sister’s lips. Relief loosened the expression on her face. “Then you have to go. Right now. You know that, right? You can’t stay here. You have to _go_.”

Link nodded again. Something panged hard against his sternum.

Aryll nodded back. Her hold on the sides of his face tightened, her fingers digging into the long, golden locks that hung down before his pointed ears. “Good. Go. _Go._ You have to bring our princess back, Link.”

Link swallowed hard. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead hard against his sister’s. Their blonde bangs fell together.

“I’ll...come back,” he said, though the words were hard to get out around the lump in his throat.

Aryll smiled fondly and sadly in the way that made her eyes crinkle like a bird’s feet. For some reason, it reminded Link of their grandmother. “Good,” her mouth formed. The corner of her lips twitched upward. “And while you’re at it, see if you can do something about this Malady, huh? I’d...kind of like to live to see the day we can go back home.”

Link nodded. His mouth flickered in a ghost of a reflection of hers. He pulled back and slowly rose to his feet. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her as he moved towards the door of their hut.

It was only her final bid of an urgent, “ _Go_ …!” that finally made him spin for the door.

Link ran out into the night.

* * *

The fauna of the island melted into a green blur as he dashed into the woods. The trees morphed from crooked palms to heavier, thicker oak and maple. Link’s breath caught in his throat as a stray branch suddenly and sharply cut across his cheek and burned. He didn’t stop running. He didn’t think he could. 

The path to the Secret Grove was simpler than he remembered.

When he came to a stop before the familiar and overgrown stone triangles embedded in the earth, he heaved out a shaky exhale.

After all these years, the sword was still there.

_Go._

As if the blade had tugged him forward by a string, Link jerked forward. He stumbled up onto the raised stone depiction of the Triforce. His fingers, almost without his bidding, wrapped themselves around the indigo hilt. His blue eyes shut tight.

 _Please_ , he begged whatever goddess was still listening--Hylia--Nayru--Din--Farore, _Please. Please, just give me the strength I need…!_

He gave an almighty tug.

The Master Sword slipped free.

* * *

Link didn’t know how to sail a boat. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

After packing what foods he could spare a moment to grab, hardly even aware of _what_ he was stuffing into his knapsack, he raced for the cave.

The crimson, dragon-headed boat was just where he remembered.

He grabbed an oar abandoned in the sand nearby and threw it, his sack, and the Master Sword into the boat. Then, with a heave to its aft, he shoved the vessel out to water. He pushed, bare feet digging into wet sand until he could feel the ocean at his toes. Then, at last, he jumped onto the boat. His heart hammered hard in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut as he passed under the curtain of a waterfall at the mouth of the cave.

When he looked up again, he could only see an endless spill of stars. The water was still, reflecting the midnight sky like a perfect mirror.

Link looked over his shoulder to the island he had called for all his life home. He could feel the wind on his skin, chilly and crisp and freeing as much as it was foreboding. It whipped his bangs up into his eyes. He shivered and turned forward. His fingers wrapped around the oar at the bottom of the boat.

_...hang in there, Aryll._

He put the paddle of the oar into the water and rowed out into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest, I have lots of thoughts and ideas for a Moana-Inspired AU for the LoZ characters, pffftftft. I mean an overconfident and cocky demigoddess!Zelda? Covered in tattoos?? MY GAY HEART. I mean I've also talked about this AU before a little bit on Tumblr (username: krisseycrystal -- hit me up if you ever want to chat!), but it was a LONG LONG time ago and tbh I think most people thought I forgot about it........................
> 
> but nah. here we are.
> 
> I don't know if I'll continue it from here though, so just let me know what you guys think! If you want more or would like to see Zelda in this verse...just hit me up. Y'kno? I'll deliver if there are others out there interested in this AU like my nerdy self. Thanks!


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